The story ended with the killer approaching a young woman who is struggling in the rain to put her groceries in her car. He has been stalking her for days, and says, simply, “Can I help you, m’am?”

The story was a good one. It didn’t receive the standing ovation that Sister’s had, probably because it made the listeners uncomfortable. Major Bissell’s serial killer was too sane, too normal; he had a wife and children that he loved and who loved him. I think Frances spoke for us all when she said, “Wow, that gave me the creeps.”

We gathered up our picnic stuff and worked our way down to the stage where Mary Alice and Major Bissell were accepting congratulations. Berry West was standing by Mary Alice, beaming.

“Wasn’t she something?” he asked. We agreed that she was. Sister grabbed Haley by the arm, pulled her aside, and whispered to her. Haley nodded. Sister whispered some more. Haley nodded again.

“What was that about?” I asked her as we walked over to Major Bissell.

Haley grinned. “She’s going out to dinner with Berry. She wants me to drive her Jaguar home.”

“That’s what all that whispering was about?”

“She was giving me instructions.”

“Not to let me drive her car?”

“That, plus something about staying clear of mailboxes. She wanted to know if I’d ever hit one. She thinks it may be genetic.”

“I wish she were going back with us. For all we know, Berry West could have been the one to make that phone call.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Patricia Anne,” Frances said. “I happen to know that his wife was president of the Atlanta Junior League.”

“Well, excuse me!” I hated to admit that this piece of news made me feel better.

“Hey, ladies,” Major Bissell greeted us.

“Your story scared me,” Haley said.

“Good. It was supposed to.” He grinned. “You know it’s based on an actual case, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said. “They figure he’s killed at least five women in the Florida Panhandle, don’t they?”

Major Bissell nodded. “The last one last August. In one of those condos right on 98, not ten feet from the highway.”

“How do you know it was him?” Frances asked.

“We know.” He turned to Haley. “You want to go get something to eat? I’m starving.”

Haley shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to drive Aunt Sister’s car back to Destin, and I’m hoping some turtles come in tonight. I don’t want to miss it if they do.”

Major Bissell looked disappointed, but as we turned to leave, Lisa Andrews came up, took his arm, and asked if he were feeling better.

“Get lost, Haley,” Frances murmured.